


perfect replica

by phadedphoque



Series: rick and morty don’t have sex (until they do) [3]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Anal Fingering, Creampie, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Pining, Robot Sex, Rough Sex, Somnophilia, dubcon, fleshlight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 00:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21485356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phadedphoque/pseuds/phadedphoque
Summary: this takes place after the "oh mama" by run the jewels x rick and morty music video. instead of putting robo morty back right away, rick has other plans for it.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Series: rick and morty don’t have sex (until they do) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602316
Comments: 7
Kudos: 117





	perfect replica

When they get back, Rick is absolutely ecstatic, blood tingling from adrenaline. A perfect con, pulled off with precision and skill. It’s moments like these he lives for, the types of things that give him the type of high he chases in pills and tabs and powders to ingest. The times like these that remind him that all the world’s a stage and all the people are players but  _ him _ ,  _ he’s  _ the  _ director, baby.  _ He’d made the right choice using the robot this time, there was no accounting for a stupid Morty fuck up when dealing with government goons. The high from his win courses through his veins, endorphins tingling at the back of his brain and his cock filled with blood. He paces around the room, hatching a plan of action before he decides on the bot. 

Instead of sending him back down to the bunker, he decides to turn it off. He’ll use it as an over complicated fleshlight, no time to waste: wanting,  _ needing _ the rush of instant gratification, too absorbed with his own hubris to savor the hunt, craving the kill. Realistic as possible was the whole point of these robots, and wasn’t a hole a hole, after all? 

That’s what he tells himself, at least, but doesn’t bother turning the robot on. Even  _ he _ has boundaries. 

He’d let it fall on the bed, flat on its back, limp. With its eyes closed it looked peaceful, more peaceful than Morty’s own resting face, but maybe just less-alive, deader. Even when the real Morty sleeps his expression still is scrunched, brows still upturned in worry. He takes a swig before sighing, tries not to let the thought penetrate his adrenaline high. He feels the white rapids of something very distilled burn through his throat and his clarity fog, his distance from the situation more pornlike, third person.  _ The miracles of alcohol,  _ he revels. 

He doesn’t let himself look at the face while he unbuckles robot Morty’s belt and slides it out of the loops. He watches his hands undo the button and zipper, notices them shaking just the slightest bit. He pulls out his own erection from out of his fly, not bothering to take off any of his own clothing, stroking himself harder, almost desperately. 

He slides his hand under the pants and is met with underwear: it’s stupid that he gave it underwear, it’s just a  _ thing _ , it doesn’t have  _ real _ feelings, it can’t be really comfortable. He palms at the feeling of balls through fabric, squeezing and fondling, savoring the weight of another person. Except, it’s not a person, is it. He swallows spit gathering in his mouth. A hole is a hole, right? 

He turns the body, the exact same weight as Morty, lighter than he’d expected, but at the same time it’s the heaviest thing in the world. He swallows hard again and he listens to his pulse beat in his head and the blood slosh in his ears. He drinks again to quiet it some. 

He slides his hands up the body, pulling the edge of the suit up, letting his fingers trace over skin. It gets his god complex going, makes it course through his veins at how perfect it is, how perfect  _ he _ is. What is god if not someone who can create  _ life _ . 

He doesn’t let his mind wander like it sometimes does when he thinks about it,  _ really _ thinks about it. Not like the times he lets himself dip into the golden honey of his own ego, to let himself indulge in godhood, if only just the illusion of it. 

No, and he doesn’t stop to think about what this feeling means, nor does he think of the implications of fucking his replicant grandson, his own creation. 

He doesn’t let his mind go that far, just ruts at the air, grinds against a synthetic thigh, trying not to lose his fast fading high. 

He yanks the loosened pants and underwear down with a rough tug, exposing the ass to air. He slaps it, watches it ripple, savors the feeling, the sight, the sound.  _ God  _ he did good. It stretches just like human skin: the phrase  _ realer than real _ comes to mind. He gives it a hard squeeze in his hands, and yet can’t help but feel that something’s missing. Was it the heat? The movement? The miniscule sounds of being alive? 

He shakes his head to rid himself of the thought, and occupies himself with rubbing his thumb at the top of the robot’s asscrack. He pulls the cheeks apart to examine the few sparse pubes at Morty’s crack. He smirks as he remembers when he’d gotten Morty to show him his ass— it  _ was  _ a perfect replica after all. He’d posed it as necessary for science, said he’d needed Morty’s ass print for body identification purposes, that everyone’s asshole had a different print just like fingertips, Morty,  _ obviously.  _ It was complete and utter bullshit. And yet Morty’d complied, not enthusiastically, but he’d done it. Of course he would. Rick could make him do anything. 

He’d remembered how red Morty’s face got, a warm and healthy rouge that spread all the way to his neck. He’d been embarrassed out of his  _ mind _ to have to expose himself to his grandpa-- “like  _ that” _ , he’d said bashfully, and Rick had laughed up a storm. He idly traces where the line of his butt meets the small of his back with his thumb, contemplating, remembering, longing. There was no redness on this Morty’s face, a sad and lifeless mockery of the original’s humiliation. 

He slides his hands down to the hole, dips his thumb into it. It doesn’t twitch in response, doesn’t try to force him out or suck him in. Instead, he has to wiggle his way in. He grabs on roughly to the edge of the ass and pulls the hole further apart, watching it gape. He’s getting angry now, angry at Morty, angry at himself. He supposes the benefit here is that he can be rough. Not that he couldn’t be rough if he’d wanted to, but wary of causing unnecessary damage he’d have to fix. 

Not that he’d fuck real Morty, ever, he corrects himself. 

He notices he’s staring at the small of Morty’s back, eyes connecting dots from moles on Morty’s back. He looks away, back down to his hands. A hole is just a hole, right? 

He pulls out his thumb and spits into the crevasse before replacing it with his middle finger, working his way deeper inside. He’d made it out of an organic plastic he’d devised himself, almost like flesh from a tree. It’s drier now that the robot is in sleep mode, something he’d done in order to conserve resources, but it will do. He pumps his finger in and out to stretch it further and shoves another finger in roughly, angrily. He pulls the body closer to himself, raising the hips closer to his own. 

He rubs his dick over the crack, trying to rile himself up again, hoping the sight of his precome smearing over the hole will do something for him, awaken some sort of animalistic sense of marking what’s his. He’s getting softer and more frustrated by the second, trying to get this limp sex doll to fit against his body. After some finagling, he manages to get himself inside, one step closer to hitting home, getting this over with. His head is the easiest part, his thickening length meeting resistance against the walls. He spits where his dick meets ass again and humps a little harder with small, angry thrusts until he’s all the way in. 

He lets his fingers out and the skin of the spinchter muscle retracts back to tighten around his member, fuck it’s tight-- he should have used actual lube. He feels suction, a force grabbing onto his dick but he can tell it’s from the change in air pressure, knows it isn’t from the tightening of muscles, it can’t be. It beckons him in anyways and it feels good: it’s what he needs. He tries not to let himself think about how much better it would be if it was hotter, wetter, alive. 

He’s got robot Morty spread far apart and he fucks down into it. It can’t stop itself from slipping, can’t hold onto the bed. Eventually, Ricks humping gets so violent that they move further down the bed until it’s essentially on its stomach, Rick now breeding the boy—the bot. He’s working up a sweat now trying to get his fix, wishing his climax would just happen already. He’s exhausted but too stubborn to give up. Thank god for his own synthetic heart: any other old man would’ve keeled over by now. 

He lies on top of the robot, stomach to the small of the doll’s back, his legs wrapped like a frog around Morty’s own rigid, straight ones. He wraps one of his arms around Morty’s stomach to brace himself, his other hand grabbing hard at fake flesh, hard enough to leave marks he knows can’t last.

In a last chance attempt to get himself off, he moves his hand up to the mouth. He works his fingers past malleable lips and spreads the jaw of the robot apart. Unconsciously, he’s drawn to the most life like part of the thing. He dips his finger past teeth and grabs hold of the tongue, testing its slimy quality by rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. It’s velvety smooth and it feels  _ real, _ really  _ real _ . Unlike the other parts of his creation, the tongue has more wetness to it, and retains more saliva even in sleep mode, the idea being that the face is the most vital feature when impersonating reality. 

He continues to play with the limp, wet tongue: he lets it slick up the space between his fingers. The texture triggers a memory that takes him by surprise: a vision of Morty smiling at him, a soft and rare moment where he’s genuinely happy. Then he’s sticking out his tongue at Rick, cute and pink and coy, before using it to eat the best ice cream in the universe. It flashes before his tightly closed eyes and he’s coming, tired and breathless, his weight heavy on top of the replica instantly. 

He pants, the euphoria of orgasm gone too soon, not worth the current disgust he’s taken with himself. He lies there a moment, trying hard not to think before rummaging around his coat pockets to get to another flask. He takes a swig before tugging himself out of the hole, nearly ripping his dick off in the process, and rolls onto his back. He looks at the back of robot Morty’s head and feels his own head throb. He looks down at the ass instead, watching his own spend leaking down a perfect, bubblesque cheek to the thighs of the cold body. Angrily he kicks the thing off his bed and onto the floor. A hole is just a hole, right? 

It falls into the trap door to his bunker, thankful that it’s out of sight. He stares up at the ceiling looking for pictures in the stucco, hoping for a sign that will tell him what to do. 

Moments later, he hears someone’s knuckles rap against the door. He tucks himself back into his suit. He’s not ashamed of what he’s done. 

“Rick? Are you back?” 

He feels his heart pound in his chest, a flurry of chaotic beats. He feels like he could throw up, wants to just to get it over with. He’s not ashamed of what he’s done. A hole is a hole right? 

“F-f-fuck off _ Morty _ ” he slurs, the name bitter like bile on his tongue. 

He hits the button on a remote that locks his door, makes his room a haven from all intruders, but it’s too late. The thoughts are already inside of him, have been since the beginning. 

He finishes the rest of the flask and wills himself to a dreamless sleep. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading!! i hope you enjoyed it, i've been watching that music video for weeks to hype myself for s4 and thinking about this scenario!!! as always all comments are appreciated! I'm @freder1ckfry on twitter, come follow me if you wanna talk about more fucked up rick things :3c


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